He just jumped down leaving a flurry of hair on my keyboard. I blow it off and continue my morning communiqué. Daughter Darling got a new kitten, but we all claim him. He is a yellow striped kitty named Obi Kitty Kenobi. (You know, Obi Wan Kenobi from Star Wars). He is not to replace Hope, no animal ever replaces another, but rather he has his own place. He will eat about anything and is hungry constantly—and he has about doubled in size since we got him. He antagonizes Zoom Zoom; actually they have been found play boxing. Obi is fine with the dogs, even letting Bear mouth him. He is an exuberant, fun, playful kitten, quite as stealth and energetic as Hope was. Obi Kitty loves bopping on Peaches who is highly insulted by the leg chewing.
DD and Baby D kept the household running, the critters tended, and Peaches hydrogenated with intravenous fluids, while Husband Dear and I ran away to Portland Oregon to attend our niece’s wedding. What a fun time! We saw my daughter, grandson, sister, brother and nephew, as well as the bride and groom. How beautiful was the bride, how handsome the groom, how beautiful was their love and generosity.
From the airport we got on the MAC, the rapid transit system of Portland, and ran smack dab into Portland’s green perky healthy trees, its fastidiousness, its character. Portland has a juxtaposition of old and new, houses of different vintage and style side by side, many areas where developers have not scraped off the land, but where houses are tenderly placed within the topography and the trees. I was tickled to see the downtown square containing an inflatable full-sized movie screen. I read the ad as we sped past, as best I could figure, they show movies only on Friday nights. I’m from Oregon as so have visited Portland many times, but never had the view from a train.
It was a quick trip and now I am back planting my butt again on the chair, and writing a new version of the Hawaii book, now called Swim at the Sheridan, (on living the life you choose.) I won’t guarantee that will be the last title change. And I am startled to see that while I have 55,000 words in my Book file, I have 54,000 in my discard file. (I’m trying to get the manuscript up to the “sweet zone” of 85,000 words without boring anybody—self included.)
Strange, now I’m feeling self-conscious about blogging. It comes up for me now and again. I never want to censure myself or put a particular spin on my writing to address anyone in particular. It is just my life, my thoughts, my experiences, and those around me that I love. I am committed to keeping it going although I am uncomfortable with it at the present time. Alas, as with many endeavors, discouragement happens, elation comes, believe, doubt, believe again. It happens.
One thing I was struck with, the Oregon trip coincided with the stock market’s craziness and people would ask if I saw the market that morning—I didn’t know until they told me about it, and I realized again that fear is perpetrating the problem. What will it take for us to turn that around? Would happy people create a happy world? Duh.
And they I read a notation on BlogHer, “Shake your tail feathers, celebrate your successes!
To life!
Joyce
